


the end is where we start from

by knux



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bisexual Mike Wheeler, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Conflict Resolution, Gay Will Byers, Ghost Shenanigans, Haunting, Heavy Angst, Inspired by Ghosting by Mother Mother, M/M, Murder, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Sad, Will Byers Has Issues, but i swear to god it gets better, this some sad shit bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 14:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20116942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knux/pseuds/knux
Summary: “what we call the beginning is often the end. and to make an end is to make a beginning. the end is where we start from.”- ts eliotthe wheelers move into a house on the edge of town, but they aren't the only ones living there. someone's been waiting in the walls for years just aching for some closure.





	1. goodnight, will byers

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh this shit's got some murder imagery and descriptions of bodies. if that bothers you, i'd recommend skipping this chapter until it updates.
> 
> also if u can guess who i slapped in as the murderer good job

Will Byers knew something was terribly wrong when the night’s silence was interrupted by the shattering of glass somewhere in the house. His mind raced as he shot up in bed, wide eyes filled with fear. It was painfully still for a moment. Painfully still until

his mother’s shriek pierced the air infinitely louder than the breaking of glass. A loud thump downstairs made him feel sickeningly dizzy.

Fat tears were already making their way down his cheeks. The boy jumped in terror as a taller shadow appeared in his doorway. 

“Will?” The shadow’s voice was a harsh, fearful whisper.

Jonathan. Just Jonathan.

His eye caught something reflecting the moonlight. Their father’s gun.

Jonathan pressed a finger to his own lips and motioned to the closet. Hide, Will mouthed, understanding the silent command almost immediately. He had been as still as stone before this very moment, frozen by fear, but now he moved like his life depended on it.

Will curled up in the corner of the closet. His knees were pulled close to his chest. Jonathan gave him a look before he closed the doors as quietly as he could.

Then he heard the heavy steps. The stairs creaked. Will felt very cold all of a sudden, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him. Through the slits in the doors he could see Jonathan with his hand on the gun. He was too still, Will thought. 

He was terrified.

The steps were close. Someone cleared their throat. Another shadow blocked moonlight from filtering into the closet. 

“We don’t have anything.”

Jonathan’s voice was shaky. Even Will could see his hands trembling from a few feet away.

A laugh came from the man. The murderer. It was a dry and harsh laugh. Like a dog’s growl.

“I know.” He said. It sent chills down Will’s spine.

Jonathan pointed the gun at him and pulled the trigger, but there was no sound except for a dull click. Oh, Jesus. Oh God. Jesus please

“Fuck!” Jonathan yelped. He took a step back. The man lunged, arm raised. The glint of the knife blinded Will for a moment. Perhaps it was God’s mercy. He didn’t have to see how the knife easily slid into Jonathan’s chest. He heard Jonathan choke, but he didn’t see how the man slit his throat as his brother crumbled to the floor. He didn’t see the bloody mess his rug had become. 

He _did_ see Jonathan’s still body. He was dead. Oh Lord his brother was dead. His mom was dead and now Jonathan was dead and what was he going to do?

The man was still. Will heard a click and then a hiss. The man was smoking. The sour smell of the cigarette reached his nose and oh god

He sneezed. The man coughed, shifting his feet towards the closet doors. “Ah,” the man said plainly, “there you are.”

Will felt like a statue as the man ripped open the doors. Of course, he had had no hesitancy with his living family. Why would he show mercy to his home? The man peered down at him, an ugly, grinning snarl on his young face. Will felt like a deer staring into the headlights of the car about to splatter him all over the road. 

The killer, a young, blond man that was maybe Jonathan’s age, sneered with horrific amusement. Like a wolf looking down upon its wounded prey. He put his hands on both sides of the doorway, effectively trapping Will—as if he was going anywhere—and leaned down. 

“You got anything to say, kid? Last words?” 

Will opened and closed his mouth, unable to do anything but wheeze. He looked pathetic. He was going to die looking like a helpless baby.

After the silence grew between them, the only noise being Will’s sniveling, the man shrugged. As if it were as simple as blowing out a candle, the man raised his blade and struck him.

It was a quick death, Will remembered. The pain ebbed away as quickly as the darkness poured into his vision. Living got real simple when he was dying, funnily. He felt calm. He would see his family wherever they had gone, wherever he was going.

At least, that’s what the priest had told him as a kid.

Will woke up in the closet where he had died, eyelids heavy with what he initially thought was sleep. He was staring straight up at the ceiling. The first emotion he felt was confusion. Heaven was _not_ his house. The boy slowly sat up and was greeted by the sight of his brother’s bloodied body in broad daylight. 

“Oh, God.” Nausea tore through him like a second killing blow, and he staggered to his feet, not knowing he’d almost double over in horror upon seeing

his own crumpled body. Wait. Will looked at the hands in front of him. _Yes_, these were his own. His gaze cautiously moved to the body of the boy below him. That was _also_ him. A sorrow began to fill his lungs like thick syrup. But what if?

“Mom?” He called out like a lost kitten. His squeaky and unsure voice echoed into the empty house. Dust particles danced in the sunlight filtering through the windows. “Jonathan?”

Will walked out of his room, daring to peer down the hallway this way and that. Nothing. He eyed the stairs nervously. His mom was down there. Not her, but her… her _body_. Will swallowed dryly. Tears pricked at his eyes as he silently crept towards the end of the hallway. He wouldn’t let himself be stuck in his room forever. Forever? Confusion drummed his mind again as he put each foot in front of the other, eyes trained solely on the floor. How did this work? Why was he here alone? Did God not want him?

_Did God not want him?_

Of course, the avalanche of questions was cut short by his mother. Not her voice, no. Just as Will had expected. He froze, gasping in a lungful of dusty, stale air.

Joyce Byers was strong and proud in life, but her pale body was small in death. Her fiery soul had left to go somewhere else, leaving what remained curling in on itself right there on the kitchen floor. Joyce’s son let out a cry as he weightlessly stumbled to her and fell onto his hands and knees. Her face was sunken, her eyes closed, her messy hair sprinkled with her dried blood. Will reached for her, but he could not feel her.

His hand seemed to go right through.

Now succumbing to another breed of horror, Will sat back. Had he touched anything on his way down? No. He couldn’t touch anything. He might as well not exist. The sorrow that had weighed on him like cement in his lungs was eaten up by the sheer emptiness that took its place. It was light, but it was ice cold. He shivered in his desolation. 

As he sat back for what felt like days, he was enlivened by the shrill scream of a police siren. Someone had noticed. Footsteps pounded on the porch. However, an irrational fear overtook him, and, like a dog caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, Will scrambled up the stairs and dove back into the closet. Back to where he had woken up some time before. 

The deafening sound of the door breaking open filled the house, followed shortly by a gravelly exclamation of “Jesus Christ!”. Will did not wait for the sheriff to find him, if there was even a chance he would. He simply fell into a slumber and dissolved into the walls.


	2. look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after months alone, will finds himself oddly intrigued by the boy that moves into his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to clear things up: the kids are 14/15 in this fic. will died at age 14 but stopped aging as a ghost
> 
> gamer tip: the chapter title is a line from ozymandias by percy bysshe shelley

Dust had settled on the replaced floors of the Byers’ home by the time Will woke up again. He emerged from the walls like a faint breeze, pale form giving off no shadow where he stood in the sunlight. Cool apathy had claimed him during the slumber. His youthful face gave no impression of emotion, and there was no reason to change it. 

He crept along the wooden floors, barely disturbing any dust particles in his wake. Silence had become comforting.

He had learned two things during his time in the house. One, if he wanted people to see him, they damn well would. Otherwise, he was as good as a cold spot in the room. Two, he could interact with objects if he focused. He had once accidentally broken a glass used to make the house look nice. The renovator had seemed spooked, to Will’s amusement. 

During his rest, many homeowners had come and gone. Some were peaceful, others were not. Will had a way of ridding his space of the disrespectful folks. Knocking shit around, opening closed doors, and scratching the walls at night got people out the door as quickly as they came.

It was fun to mess with people, but the freezing hollowness always came back when the house was empty again. It made him tired. Sad, even. It was a terrible thing to feel trapped like a figurine within a snowglobe. He had once attempted to leave the house, but stepping onto the front porch filled him with a fiery, engulfing agony unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was as if too much distance from his deathbed threatened to tear his soul apart thread by thread.

He was chained here, destined to always be asking questions without answers. It was terrifying when he dwelled on it too much.

Will sat against the island when a commotion sounded from outside. The familiar rumble and squeal of a moving truck, the yipping and laughing of a hopeful new family. The front door opened. Will hummed and lifted his gaze lazily only to freeze. 

He caught the eye of a tall, lanky boy with messy black hair who seemed to be staring straight at him. Shit. Will waved his hand to check if he was truly there, but mid-motion, the boy looked away. The spirit let out a relieved sigh and rose to his feet. The family’s chatter was just white noise to him. He carefully walked around them, surveying every one of his new housemates as he danced and ducked to avoid colliding with their limbs and torsos. 

But he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the boy with the black hair. He wasn’t odd-looking, god, no. He was… pretty? Will curled his lip at the thought and distanced himself a few feet from the bustling group. The mother was bouncing a young girl on her hip. The father seemed to have a resting frown. The boy and the older girl were bickering, Will didn’t care to listen about what.

At some point the boy had had enough and stormed upstairs. Could he be? Maybe. Will followed him like a shadow. The boy slipped into the first room on the right. Will’s room. Curiously, the paler boy stepped into the doorway. The air felt heavy here, and as Will shivered, the raven-haired boy did the same. The spirit smiled.

He stepped inside and looked around the room, hands in the pockets of his jeans. Every box in here had ‘Mike’ written on it. Ah, so Mike was his name. 

“Nice to meet you, Mike,” Will breathed. Mike tensed and looked around the room, but he wouldn’t see anything. Will bit back a laugh. He leaned against the wall and simply watched for a few moments. He might have called it creepy back when he was alive, but what else was he supposed to do? It was still _his_ home. 

Will hadn’t been too careful in his placement against the wall evidently, because when the older sister stormed into Mike’s room and turned on the light, her hand went straight through him. God. Fuck. He never got used to it. Will cringed, and the poor girl yanked her hand away from the lightswitch, eyes wide like she had been shocked. But it didn’t distract her from her anger completely. Will decided to tune in this time.

“What the _hell_ are you doing in my room?”

“Who said it was _yours_? _My_ stuff’s in here!”

Will snickered. Right. Jonathan had slept in here because it was the bigger room, but after too many hijackings, he just gave up and moved. It didn’t seem that Mike’s sister would be backing down too easily. She snarled at him.

“Did you tell the movers to put your shit in here? Because I remember Mom _specifically_ telling them you had the room down the hall.”

Mike reddened. “So what if I did?” Then, a devilish smile crept onto his face. “Look. I get the room, and I don’t tell Mom about Steve. She’s been really curious lately, Nance, wondering who in the world you’re calling at one in the mo—”

“Alright! Alright! God, Michael! _Jeez_, you win.” Nancy shot Mike a death glare and stormed back into the hall, probably going to unpack her stuff and grumble.

Will felt a bloom of warm nostalgia unfurl inside of him for the first time in a long time. He missed these squabbles with his brother. At this rate, Will realized, wilting like a flower in the beginnings of winter, he would never have them again. He slumped against the wall, feeling part of him slip through it. It was always best to not dwell on these things. Jonathan wouldn’t want him to feel sad, Will reminded himself as he disappeared.

A howl of triumph erupted from the basement as Will stepped ‘into sight’ a few days later. Three boys, Mike being one of them, and a girl were huddled around a table. Was that? It was! Heart in his throat with excitement, he recognized the table setup for Dungeons and Dragons. Mike was acting as the Dungeon Master for his friends, dramatically gesturing with his hands and striking fear into the hearts of his comrades. Will had been the Dungeon Master for his friends a long time ago. He slowly paced around the group, watching their game with a glimmer of joy in his eye. 

The only girl, a pretty short-haired brunette by the name of El, was a damn natural. She always managed to roll what she needed no matter the odds. Mike, on the other hand, always seemed dumbfounded by her luck. 

They had just finished a difficult dungeon when El piped up. “I roll to loot the dragon’s lair.”

Mike smirked, glancing down at his papers momentarily. “Good luck. You’ll need it on this one,” he replied with an edge to his tone. Will furrowed his eyebrows. El was in for a trick, and Will wasn’t going to let her lucky streak break because of an unfair roll. He shot an unnoticed glare at Mike as he wandered around to peek behind the screen.

Yep! Rigged as hell! If El didn’t specifically roll a 19, she’d either get surprised by some kind of mimic or be gifted with a useless item. His gaze returned to the girl, who actually looked worried. The boys on either side of her, Dustin and Lucas respectively, shared the same concern. This roll was _important_.

El kissed her die and rolled it. Come on, Will thought, _come on_. But his heart sank as the die leaned towards an 18. In a heated moment of focus, Will shook his head, leaned forward, and nudged the die to 19. He hoped it looked natural. 

It didn’t seem to matter, though, because Mike’s face dropped _not_ in suspicion but in disbelief. “What the hell?”

“That’s 19. Whaddya got for me?”

Mike stared at his papers behind the screen, wholly dumbstruck. Will grinned. The raven-haired boy slumped his shoulders and sighed.

“Lucky shot, El. After looking through the remains of the dungeon, an item reflecting the sun’s filtered light catches your eye… the Sword of the Dragonslayer is rightfully yours.”

El shot her fist into the air, letting loose a roar of victory. Dustin and Lucas yipped and howled around her. The only one not sharing this celebratory moment was the Dungeon Master himself. Mike’s smile was half-hearted. Will frowned, taking the two steps to get next to him, and crouched down. 

Will’s eyes drifted gently over the boy’s face. His curved nose. His slightly pouted bottom lip. The curly strands of hair that fell in his face. Mike was… something. There was a word for it, but Will couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Regardless, Will didn’t want to see him disappointed either.

He’d already broken the ‘rules’ once today. What was one more transgression against the will of the universe?

“Don’t worry about it. Next time, give them a foe the sword is useless against.” Will murmured close to Mike’s ear.

The Dungeon Master froze, eyes wide, but his brain seemed to rationalize the strange voice as a drifting thought. Mike’s grin took on a new, wide, and beaming form. Perfect. Sorry, El. You win some, you lose some.

Will didn’t stay around for long after the session ended. He felt like he was staying past his welcome, which he wasn’t even 100% sure he had in the first place. As he dissolved into his home, his eyes lingered on Mike. A warm feeling bubbled in his chest and rose to his cheeks. _What_ was the word on the tip of his tongue?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a quick update bc im really caught up in this idea, but, fair warning, updates wont always be this quick. luv yall


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